


My Treat: Feeling loved, feeling spooky

by Dusty



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A Kiss, Candy, Costumes, Crowley temporarily a little human child, Emotions, First Kiss, Halloween, It feels Spooky, It feels loved, M/M, Romance, pure fluff, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 20:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21259034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: Some tooth-rotting fluff this Halloween for y'all:Aziraphale helps Crowley find his inner child for Halloween.





	My Treat: Feeling loved, feeling spooky

'Honestly, it's so demeaning,' moaned Crowley. He was in the throes of a full gothic sulk, whilst repeatedly peeking out of the window. Outside on the streets, lots of small children were shrieking and giggling, dressed as all kinds of pirates, skeletons, and beasties, as their parents led them trick or treating. One little child was dressed as a snake, which Crowley found distasteful. He scowled and turned back to look at the bookshop. 

Aziraphale had placed medium-sized carved pumpkins in the windows. One of them appeared to have the face of the archangel Gabriel looking rather smug. The others simply had teeth. Otherwise, the shop was its usual timeless self.

The angel on the other hand was for some reason taking rather a long time in the little bathroom.

'Are you ever going to come out of there?' called Crowley, tapping on the door. 'I want to open that wine that you've forbidden me to touch unless you're with me.'

'Just a moment, Crowley, dear,' called Aziraphale. 

Crowley slouched against the wall, allowing himself a thorough pout and sigh. Halloween was stupid. Stupid kids with all that stupid stuff. He could show them what spooky really was! Yes! But no, because he was a 6ft tall demon who would probably get arrested for being weird around children. It really wasn't fair. What was an actual demon to do?

The bathroom door clicked, and was thrown open, to reveal Aziraphale dressed in a white sheet, his face and hair completely covered in white baby powder. 'BOO!' he declared, sending a little gasp of powder into the air.

'Bloody Hell, angel!' squawked Crowley, pretending it hadn't made him jump. He stared in horror at the sight of Aziraphale, whose shining eyes were the only non whitened part of him. 

'Well then, are we ready?' asked the angel pleasantly. 

'What are you talking about?' growled Crowley morosely. 

'We're going trick or treating,' announced Aziraphale. 

'Pfft!' said Crowley. 'No we're not! It's demeaning. And for children.' He slunk back over to the window to see a group of 4ft high witches laughing at each other. Little humans with pointed hats and small buckets of sweets, chocolates, and the occasional furry, spooky toy.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley fondly. 'My dear, Halloween is for children of all ages.'

'Humans,' mumbled Crowley to himself. He turned from the window, gloom emanating from him. 

'I would like you to get ready,' said Aziraphale steadily, with just the slightest tinge of warning. 

Crowley frowned. 'I'm not going out with you dressed like that,' he spat, stalking aggressively across the shop floor to where he knew Aziraphale kept the wine. 'I'm a demon, not a...' he stuttered, unable to think of what it was Aziraphale imagined he could be, and compensated for his inarticulation by helping himself to a bottle of the angel's prize Châteauneuf-du-Pape. 

With a deft wave, Aziraphale miracled the bottle into a padlocked box and sent it up to the highest shelf. He gave Crowley a stern glare, which despite the absurdity of his ghostly costume, still made Crowley recoil. 

'Now don't be naughty, Crowley. We are going out. I know that's what you really want. It's for you to decide how you'd like to appear, but I can help if you like.'

Crowley sniffed and tried to appear indifferent. 'Not a kid,' he muttered miserably. 

Aziraphale stepped towards him, a warm angelic glow seemed to touch Crowley even from several feet away. 'Oh I rather think you are, Anthony, dear.' The angel smiled, no, _beamed_, and Crowley was overwhelmed with a feeling of love and heat, and oddly, fleshiness. At the same time, the entire bookshop seemed to stretch upward. 

A little dizzy, the demon lost his footing and fell backwards on his bottom, which wasn't quite where he expected his bottom to be, and some unexpected fleshiness cushioned the fall. He looked at his legs. They were easily half the length they had been just moments ago.

'Angel!' he squeaked. Then froze in alarm. His voice was no longer rich and throaty. It was high and clear.

The angel was coming closer. 'There,' said Aziraphale proudly, as if he'd just finished decorating an elaborate Christmas tree. 

Crowley looked up at him with wide eyes, his red hair a little longer and floppier, and everything he was wearing now fun-sized. Anthony J Crowley was a human child of around six years old. He was slight but not skinny, with brilliant knobbly knees, a pointy nose, and rosy cheeks which showed up against his pale skin. His eyes were a light hazel. 

'Up you get,' said Aziraphale gently, holding out his hand. Crowley instinctively took it, and got to his feet. His brain was already adjusting to his new biological parameters, and he felt awash with liberation and excitement.

He therefore jumped up and down. 'I'm a kid!' he shouted.

Aziraphale winced at the shrill voice before chuckling. 'Yes you are,' said the angel happily, ruffling Crowley's hair. 'Now, are you going to do as you're told and select a costume?'

Crowley bit his lip. It was suddenly irresistible. Of course he wanted this, more than anything. He could go and scare those witches, and that snake child. 'Anything?' he asked sweetly.

'Within reason,' answered Aziraphale. 'And then Mr Fell will take you trick or treating.'

Crowley blushed. It was so silly. But it was so perfect. And it really wasn't fair that a dangerous demon like him had nowhere to go on Halloween. _Anything_, he thought to himself.

'I want to be a werewolf!' he said with wonder. Something not so squirming at your feet-ish, of course.

'Ah! Lovely!' said Aziraphale, and with a click of his fingers, young Crowley was dressed from head to foot in a furry werewolf costume, complete with a fearsome werewolf face. He immediately began to practice his growl, which sounded a bit like a kitten, and the angel found himself swallowing a snigger as he grabbed a little cauldron bucket for Crowley to collect Halloween candy in.

'Here you go, poppet. Now take my hand, and stay close by, and will do a little sweep of the neighbourhood.'

The neighbourhood, being Soho, was not known for its family oriented community, except rather curiously, for this one Halloween night. And that night, a polite and tubby middle-aged ghost gently guided his excitable little werewolf from door to door, where a charming array of kind neighbours were happy to deposit all manner of sweets and toys into Crowley's cauldron bucket. Little Crowley growled appreciatively.

Before long, the bucket was full, and the angel and demon started to make their way back to the shop for the promised evening of wine and conversation. But before they could get there, the little gaggle of witches appeared again, already somewhat overdosed on sugar. On seeing Crowley, they set about waving and pointing their wands at him.

'Bad wolf!' one of them cried. 

'Werewolf, turn him back!' cried another. It was giggly and sweet natured enough, but Crowley saw his chance. He thrust the bucket at Aziraphale and ran into the group of witches with a roar. With purest delight, the witches screamed and ran about. 

Aziraphale quickly caught up with his wayward wolf, carrying the cauldron, and apologised to one of the parents, who waved it off with a snort while filming the mayhem on their phone. The parent guided the little witches away. 

Crowley turned to his angel and roared again. 

Aziraphale scowled dramatically. 'Right!' he said, catching Crowley around his waist and effortlessly picking him up. 'Bedtime for wicked werewolves,' he chided with amusement. Crowley squealed gleefully as he was carried back to the shop.

Aziraphale popped the furry little Crowley back inside the shop, and locked the door behind them. He turned around to see his werewolf looking back at him. He grinned and put the cauldron down. 'Well now, Anthony, did you enjoy that?'

Crowley simply ran up to him and flung his arms around his angel's waist in a tight, tight hug.

Aziraphale thought he heart might explode. It just felt too big and too full of everything good. He petted the little werewolf. 'All right, trouble. Let's get you back, shall we?'

Crowley reluctantly but obediently let go of Aziraphale and stepped backwards. 

With a happy sigh and an orchestra conductor-like movement from Aziraphale, the werewolf grew to be a skinny 6 feet of demon. Crowley pulled off the mask and shook his head. 'Hot in there,' he exclaimed. He had a goofy smile on his face.

'I'm not surprised,' said Aziraphale darkly. 'All that chasing of witches. Tut tut.'

'They loved it,' said Crowley, his usual swagger returning. He snapped his fingers and was back to his old self, black, red, and slinky.

'Aww,' said the angel. 'My little werewolf's all grown up.'

'Shut up,' said Crowley good-naturedly checking his clothes were unscathed. Then he bit his lip, and looked at Aziraphale. 'Thank you for that. Really. Thank you.'

Aziraphale beamed, and with a flourish was back to his usual self as well. 'Anything for my favourite spook,' he said. Then he clapped his hands. 'Now,' he said. 'Let's see what you got!' He peered into the cauldron. 

Crowley snorted. 'You saw what I got. I guess we can leave it outside for the little...' He stopped in his tracks, because Aziraphale was holding the cauldron bucket. Only the bucket was now bigger, and had three bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape inside it, nestled on a bed of Halloween candy. 

Aziraphale held it proudly. 'My dear!' he said. 

'Oh, angel,' said Crowley, softly moved. 'I don't deserve...'

'...of course you do. You deserve both a little trick and a little treat, just like everyone else. Happy Halloween, Crowley.'

There was a thick silence. The demonic eyebrows went first, then the bottom lip quivered. Crowley tried to turn away but his brain was still recalibrating his adult dimensions, so yet again, he fell on his bottom. It was bonier this time, and Crowley thought he should eat some of the candy just to add a little padding back there. 

Aziraphale had dashed over. 'Are you all right, my dear? I'm sorry if I've, broken your... bro code...'

Crowley cringed. 'My bro code?' he shook his head. 'You didn't... break anything,' he croaked.

The angel simply sat down next to him on the floor. 'Good. I know you get that BroMo.'

Crowley scrunched up his face, incredulous. 'That _what_?'

'That worry that you'll miss out on all the very cool things?' said Aziraphale sweetly.

'FOMO, Aziraphale! FOMO. Fear Of Missing Out.'

'Ah! That makes more sense now.'

'Oh my god, you are...' Crowley sighed heavily, taking in the sight of Aziraphale. His angel was looking at him, genuinely abashed. His sincerity took Crowley's breath away, as it always did. 'You are perfect,' Crowley found himself saying in a hoarse voice. 

'Oh!' intoned Aziraphale. He fiddled with his fingers as he blushed furiously. 

'Obviously I'm only saying that because you cast a spell on me,' said Crowley. Nevertheless, his eyes glinted at the angel. 

Aziraphale smirked in reply. 'Oh, _obviously_. It's clearly a brain injury. Who knows if you'll recover. Dreadful, really. You might find yourself being terribly sweet to me.'

Crowley's eyes narrowed. Aziraphale continued with a camp shrug. 'The damage could be permanent. What a tragedy.' 

Crowley leered theatrically. The air crackled between them, and Crowley leaned in to kiss his teasing angel on the mouth. It was a tender brush of the lips, a breathless catch of the tongue, and the softest expression of all the things Crowley could think but not say. Gratitude, simpatico, safety, warmth, _love_. 

Aziraphale, of course, felt all of that. The kiss came to a natural end, and the angel chuckled to himself. What a strange evening. 'Well, this is spooky, isn't it,' he said. 

'Speak for yourself angel,' sniffed Crowley, unable to engage any kind of bravado. 'I think it's rather lovely.'


End file.
